Page 2 of The Proximity Factor

“Yeah, that’s going to change lives.” Although, my daddy was extra proud of that statue, seeing as his great-great-granddaddy was one of the founders.

She took my hand. “Listen to me: you changed my life. When my family moved to town all those years ago after buying the vineyard, no one knew what to make of us—a Cuban southern family. At ten years old I was an early bloomer, already wearing a size C cup with hips like Shakira and untamed hair. But you looked past all of that and invited me to sit with you and your friends at lunch. You. The most popular girl in school. After that, everyone accepted me, even if I spoke Spanish with a southern accent.”

I grinned with teary eyes. “I love that about you. And the first time I saw you, I knew we were destined to be BFFs.”

She squeezed my hands. “I’ll always be grateful for that. And as your BFF, I’m telling you that you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to prove anything to Greg, or anyone else for that matter.”

“I think maybe I need to prove something to myself.”

She groaned. “Fine, but I’m going to meet this Parker and grill him until he’s well done.”

“I would expect nothing less from you.” I let go of her and hopped out of the truck with the manila envelope. After exploring the house and getting to know my new roomie, I would collect my bags and boxes. Assuming he was there. The only other car I saw in front of the cottage was a Porsche Panamera Hybrid. Surely it wasn’t Parker’s. No way would someone who could afford that kind of car be doing something like this. But it made me wonder who in the cozy, historic neighborhood owned it. It seemed out of place.

I straightened out the white tee that my girls, as I liked to call the cheer squad, had gotten me for Christmas last year. It said, In My Cheer Coach Era. I was ready to make friends with Parker and rock this social experiment, even if I didn’t know what it was about. Regardless, I was going to prove I was full of substance.

Val and I walked up the cobblestone path like we were approaching the Wizard of Oz and didn’t know what to expect. The Georgia midday sun and humidity enveloped us. June was definitely upon us. We took each porch step slowly and cautiously before tiptoeing toward the horseshoe door that screamed for a floral wreath. Maybe I would add one. Hopefully Parker didn’t mind girly things, because I’d brought at least a dozen throw pillows with me to make the place feel like home. I knew the university had furnished the house, but they said we could decorate it within reason. Meaning no painting the walls or anything permanent.

I pulled out the key, but Val twisted the doorknob before I could use it. Someone had already unlocked the door.

It was then we heard what sounded like Celtic music, mixed in with broody chanting.

Val’s brow raised as she pushed the door open.

“Hello?” I called before stepping into the entryway. The open door revealed a white accent cabinet and gold-framed mirror hanging above it on the Chantilly lace painted wall. It contrasted well against the dark hardwood floors—someone had good taste.

No one answered, but the music swelled, making me feel as if I’d entered a fantasy movie and was about to go on an epic adventure. Either that or become part of a sacrifice. Hopefully it wasn’t the latter.

“What is this music?” Val asked.

I shrugged. If it wasn’t a pop or country song, I couldn’t tell you. It was one of Greg’s complaints about me. My musical palate was too cliché for him. If he was looking for refinement, he probably shouldn’t have moved to Goldenville. Not to say there aren’t some lovely and cultured residents, but half the town leaves their Christmas lights up year-round.

We followed the music as we walked through the living room with a stone fireplace and what I would call neutral, country-chic furniture. Beyond the spacious living room was a cozy kitchen and dining area to the right. It led us to a small hallway with a bathroom on the left and a linen closet across from it. Beyond that was a laundry room straight ahead that sat between the bedrooms. I was getting a sinking feeling there was only one bathroom. Val’s wrinkled brow said she had the same bad impression.

The laundry room door and one of the bedroom doors were open. The loud music was coming from the closed door on the left.

“Should I knock?” I asked Val, not sure what to expect. The music was giving me the vibes of an eighteen-year-old barely out of high school who fantasized about wanting to be a wizard and went to every Comic-Con he could. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It’s just, I was hoping for someone closer to my age whom I had something in common with. Twelve weeks is a long time to live with someone.

Val nodded and nudged me toward the four-paneled door.

“Here goes nothing,” I squeaked, my throat constricting. I kept reminding myself this was for Mama and humankind. Normally, I wasn’t so nervous about meeting people—I loved people. But the whole Dateline thing was wigging me out. I kept thinking about what everyone was going to say about me when they were interviewed after my demise. Greg would probably say he knew I would end up tragically murdered because I was dumb enough to sign up for such an experiment. Then he would take Meribeth’s hand and look adoringly at her, thanking his lucky stars he picked her over me. Ugh.

Well, I was going to show him. I was going to survive, and maybe even learn how to play chess, given the sounds coming from the bedroom. I stood as tall as I could, all five foot five of me, and then I knocked loudly. “Hello, it’s your new roomie,” I said brightly.

The music got louder.

I turned to Val, who had her hands on her hips, ready to go all southern on someone. She was going to be blessing someone’s heart, and not in the good way.

“Maybe he didn’t hear me.” I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I knocked harder the next time. “Hello!” I shouted above the music.

After several seconds, the door whipped open and revealed my disgruntled roommate. Uh ... wow. He wasn’t eighteen, I’ll tell you that. Before me stood a Clark Kent of a man. We are talking broad shoulders covered by a neatly pressed oxford shirt, a hint of starch and linen rolling off him. Add in a chiseled jawline and piercing gray eyes hiding behind his dark-framed glasses. His eyes bore right into me as if he actually possessed some superhuman strength.

“What do you want?” he snapped, looking me over while running a hand through his clean-cut dark hair, peppered with a few strands of gray. The more he looked, the angrier he seemed to get, judging by the red splotches appearing on his neck and cheeks.

That was a good question. What did I want? I forgot why I even knocked on his door. I was so mesmerized by him, even if he was rude. While I was considering my response, I couldn’t help but notice all the large computer monitors and laptops in his room. How odd.

“I don’t have all day.” His snippy comment brought me out of my stupor.

“I just wanted to introduce myself.” My hand jetted out, ready to give him a firm, friendly shake. “I’m Lanie Davenport, your new roommate.” I was trying to be the honey and catch this angrily buzzing, albeit attractive, fly.

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